In Memory
by CarriePika
Summary: Sometimes even the greatest of heroes has a hero of their own. Even Sonic the Hedgehog.


 DISCLAIMER: Sonic the Hedgehog and everything relating to it are not mine. They are the property of and copyright to Sega and Sonic Team. I didn't create them... though sometimes I kinda wish I did. XD 

This fic was written just.. spur of the moment. I have no real idea where it came from. I was just suddenly possessed to write it today. And I had fun with it. I suppose it's not bad for my first submission. Could be better. 

It's strange, it's mildly angsty, it's written in the first person and, let me tell you, I don't write first person often, so, go easy. ^^; 

It's self explanatory, really. Enjoy~ 

**In Memory...**   
By Carrie Riff

     I'm running, headlong, through the trees.

     Yeah, yeah, I know, cliché way to start a story, but come on, everything's gotta start somewhere, and that's the truth.  I'm running.

     And I can run.

     It's what I know best.  It's what I do.  It's what I'm known for.  It's what I'm good at.

     I'm the fastest thing alive, and I take pride in that.

     They call me Sonic.  Sonic the Hedgehog.

     I'm a hero.

     Or I'm supposed to be.

     Right now, I'm running.

     Where am I running?

     Away.

     Away from everything.  Away from it all.  Away from that day.

     Away from myself.

     Everywhere I go, people smile at me.  They smile and wave and sometimes they even ask for my autograph.  They want to take pictures with me, want to be able to say they've spoken to me, shook my hand, met the great and wonderful hero.

     _"Hey!  You're Sonic the Hedgehog!  The guy who saved the world!_

     Every time I hear it... I die a little more inside.

     I'm a hero.

     Only I'm not supposed to be.

     Oh, don't get me wrong.  I don't mind the attention.  In fact, I kinda like it.  There's something nice about everybody knowing your name.  Something strangely comforting knowing you're a household subject, that people talk about you over dinner.  That kids get excited and talk about you in the schoolyard.  

     It's like this little piece of immortality.

     I watch them sometimes, y'know.  I go to the playground and I sit where nobody can see me, usually up in one of the trees, and I watch them play.  Young and vibrant and full of life.  They remind me why I do the things I do.  They remind me of just who I'm doing this all for.  They help remind me...

     This is what makes it all worthwhile.

     So I watch.  And sometimes the games they play make me smile.  I watch the boys fight over who gets to pretend to be me this time.  Then watch them decide who gets to be Tails, who gets to be Knuckles.  Watch as one of them decides to be Robotnik this time. 

     It's almost ironic.  Sonic today is Robotnik tomorrow. 

     Kind of gives you food for thought.

     Wanna know what hurts though?

     Not one of those boys ever wants to be him.

     Not one of those boys even knows who the real hero is.

     Nobody knows him.  Nobody talks about him.  Nobody wants to pretend to be him. Nobody mourns for him.

     Nobody but me.

     I remember him.  I remember every little thing about him.  It's stamped into my brain, etched in deep.  Indelible.  Permanent.  This name, this face, scrawled across my mind in big black letters.

     Big black and red letters.

     He's the reason I'm running.

     I hated him, you know.  I hated him, hated everything he was.  Hated how he moved, how he spoke, how he chuckled.  That infuriating little smirk.  The hands, the feet, the arms, legs, head, quills that looked so much like mine.  Those piercing eyes.

     Those damned crimson eyes.

     Every time I close my eyes, I see them.  Every night they fill my dreams.  I watch them as they gaze at me, how they flicker with power, with strength, with so many things.

     I watch them as they fall away.

     And I can see the acceptance, the peace, in them as they go.

     I watch them.  All the time.

     The eyes of a hero.

     The eyes of a martyr.

     He saved me, you know.

     I never told anybody.  It's the secret I keep.  The burden I bear.  My dirty little secret.  My personal conspiracy.  My silent burden.

     _My nightmare_.

     He saved me.

     I'm the reason he died.

     And nobody knows it but me.

     He fed me his power.  Somehow he knew, knew neither of us had the strength to get back.  He knew we wouldn't make it.  I don't know how he knew, but he must have.  Because he grabbed hold of me, looked at me with those damned eyes of his, and he fed me his power.  Nobody knew he was doing it.

     Except me.

     I didn't want it.  Didn't want him to.  Tried to stop him. 

     He did it anyways.

     And I couldn't stop him.

     Maybe I didn't really want to.  I don't know anymore.  All I know is he gave it to me, gave me the energy I needed to get back.

     And then he pulled himself away from me.

     And then he fell.

     Then he died.

     And I watched him go.  

     I didn't tell anyone.  I can't tell anyone.  They don't deserve that, don't deserve to know.  Maybe I'm being selfish.

     Maybe I'm not.

     If they knew, then they'd have to deal with it.  They'd have to think about it.  They'd have to dwell on it.  They'd have to weep and wail and mourn for his selfless act.

     I don't want that.

     Or maybe I'm just selfish.

     Maybe I haven't told anyone because then I wouldn't be the hero.  I wouldn't be the one they'd laud and applaud.  I wouldn't be the one people hailed as the greatest hero that ever lived. 

     I never say a word.  After all...

     I'm supposed to be the hero.

     Only I'm not.

     I dunno.  I don't think they'd believe me.  They'd call me modest.  They'd call me modest and selfless and think I was saying it just to be nice.  Think I was making it up just to make him look better.

     They think I tried to save him.

     I_ didn't_.

     My dirty little secret.

     Oh, I would have, if I'd known.  If I'd known what he knew, I would have done the same.  If I'd known what he knew, I'd have given him the strength, given him the energy.  If I'd known what he knew, I would have saved him.

     I like to tell myself that.

     Trouble is...

     I don't know if I would have anymore.

     And this is why I'm running.

     Because when I run, I can forget.

     Only that doesn't work anymore.

     I can't forget.  Everywhere I go, everything I do, I see him.  I see the things he could be doing, the things he could be enjoying, the life he could be leading.

     I'll never forget.

     He deserves at least that much.

     Oh, look, I'm here already.  

     Where am I?

     I'm away.  Away from everything.

     This is my place. 

     This is where I used to come to forget.

     This is where I come to remember.

     Nobody else knows about this place.  This was where I came when I needed some space.  This is where I came when I wanted to be by myself.  It's special, just for me.

     Only it's not just for me anymore.

     I loved coming here.  The perfect little spot to sit and watch the sunset on the ocean.  The perfect little spot to watch the moon come into view.

     The moon.

     I watch it rise from here, and I watch it all the time.

     _Every single day_.

     It helps remind me, too.

     A broken, weeping moon.  

     White as the stars.  White as snow.  White as bone.  White as death.

     White as his tombstone.

     They never found him.  Never found his body.  There was no funeral, no memorial, no grave.

     I fixed that.

     I gave him my special place.

     And today I brought flowers.

     I don't know what kind he liked, or if he even did.  But I bring him one.

     _Every single day_.

     It's quiet here.  Always so quiet.  I like that though, because when it's quiet, I can talk to him.

     I kneel at the tombstone, reach out, touch it.  It's cold, even through my gloves.

     Hey, I say, it's me again.  Came to watch the moon with you.

     Sometimes I think he's even listening.

     I brought you something, I tell him, hope you like it.

     A carnation.  Purest crimson.  Just like his eyes.

     It looks pretty against the white stone.

     Sometimes I think he even smiles at me when I visit.

     And this is where I stay.  I stay here, beside him, and I watch the moon as it comes into view.  I sit here and watch.

     Sometimes I think he's really here.

     I smile at him, a soft sad smile.  It's about all I can manage anymore.

     You really are a hero, I tell him.

     You really are a martyr.

     I will never, ever forget you.

     You're my hero.

     You're my martyr.

      I barely even knew you and you're all these things to me.

      I barely even knew you and...

      I miss you.

      It's time to go.  It's getting cold and I really aught to get home.  I let my fingers trace the letters in the stone one last time before I go.  I'm not a poet, I've never been good with words, so they're simple.  And I read them one last time, before heading off into the night.

      _In memory of my hero_

     _Shadow the Hedgehog_

----- 

Well, that's it! Strange, I know, but I had some fun writing it.  
I hope you all enjoyed it, and if you did, feel free to leave me a review. 

Oh, and please, don't leave me a review telling me that Shadow's alive. I KNOW he is. I'm a raving Shadow fan girl so believe me, I know he's alive. But this was fun to write anyways. 

Keep writing, keep dreaming, keep reaching for that star.  
Never give up, never give in. 

-- Carrie 


End file.
